


After the Witch Storm

by Eleanor Green (eldestmuse)



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Gen, Pregnancy, Terreille
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldestmuse/pseuds/Eleanor%20Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Burke is a Green Jeweled Warlord who has done everything in his power to hide that fact, but when his favorite whore turns up pregnant because of a Black Widow's visions, he concludes that AFTER THE WITCH STORM it may finally be safe for him to flaunt his true rank in Terreille.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Witch Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Should be canon up through TWILIGHT'S DAWN although I can't promise there aren't any accidental inconsistencies.

The Realm stood in ruins, devastated by the witch storm sent by Kaeleer. It hadn’t escaped Burke’s notice that the storm had been more violent the closer to Hayll it had gotten, so when he overheard a broken male muttering to his companion about the Shadow Realm and the war he had lost a brother to, the Green Jeweled Warlord smirked. If a fighter from Kaeleer stepped through one of the gates, he would have been wary but expressed his frank gratitude for the destruction of Hayll and those it influenced, though it had taken even him time to acclimate to the idea that over half the blood in Terreille was lost.

He, at least, didn’t blame the Shadow Realm for a war Dorothea SaDiablo’s pet Queens had started to fuel her unwavering ambition.

Most of the dead had been twisted bitches or males so tainted by centuries of ill treatment that they’d begun to take sadistic joy in preying on witches. Burke had taken careful note of that as well… and he knew that Jurle had worn the Purple Dusk before the witch storm, when he had served in the first circle of the District Queen’s Court. There had been ugly rumors surrounding his service, for his lack of aristo connections hadn’t stopped his ambitions for advancement.

So few Queens remained. The ones not destroyed or broken by the witch storm had already been broken—or worse—by Hayll’s pet sadists. Oh, there were a few young girls who hadn’t yet possessed the age or strength to matter, but barely a season had passed since the storm. The Queenlings had potential—potential fiercely guarded by fathers and brothers—but for a few more years it could be only that.

In the years it would take them to mature, the Territory would continue to crumble, because no one had the strength to hold it all together, and many who might have had the inclination had fled to Kaeleer through the service fairs. The Shadow Realm had robbed Terreille of promise and talent, but even that he couldn’t hate it for.

He’d had a chance to go, with his mother and the husband she’d taken in the twilight years of her life, but though he wished her the best in finding the peaceful cottage and simple life she dreamed of, she was a Rose-Jeweled witch who life had taken the fight from. She’d lost an arm to a vicious Queen displeased with the painting she’d made, lost her husband to a confrontation with a rogue Warlord Prince that should never have happened. Burke didn’t blame her for her decision to flee the taint in Terreille, but his place was in his territory.

He wasn’t a Warlord Prince, but he wore a dark jewel in a time when there were whole—if small—territories that had been stripped of the Jeweled Blood. He had been raised to keep his head down and had killed to keep the secret of the Green, but he had also been raised to preserve the things he cared about. There were still people in Merisom he cared about, and so he had remained—and to himself, he could admit that he loved the land even though it had been raped for centuries.

Burke couldn’t walk away from Terreille, not while he could serve the land—even if he couldn’t serve a Queen. Hayll might have perverted the old ways and butchered Protocol until it was a weapon instead of a buffer, but the Red Jeweled bitches who had shredded the soul of his land hadn’t been able to corrupt _his_ instincts.

He took an angry gulp of whiskey as his gaze swept around the room. The Idle Hour was one of the few aristo drinking establishments in the city that remained open. He continued to patronize it out of habit, though the men who drank there soured his stomach. At least now it took very little effort to hide his Jeweled strength. He stood so far below them in the abyss now that almost all of them were restricted to basic Craft.

Then a witch walked into the room, and his attention wasn’t focused on the males anymore. She wore only a Yellow Jewel, but even that light strength was significant in the wake of the storm—even this far to the west, in a territory that had only recently lost the fight to avoid whoring itself for Hayll. But that wasn’t why he stood respectfully when she caught his eye. No, he recognized her.

She might have worked at a Red Moon House for all the years he’d known her, but he’d never let a witch’s honest work interfere with the respect and tenderness he felt for the gender as a whole, particularly given how many were forced into the life of a whore by situations behind their control. Besides, he’d known the woman who owned the House she’d worked for, and her willingness to funnel money to the rogues and the resistance had been one of the many reasons he’d made it a point to frequent her establishment.

“Lord Burke,” she said, her voice quavering with—was that fear? No. It sounded like exhaustion and nerves, but she didn’t seem to be afraid of _him_.

“Lady Marenne,” he acknowledged, his nerves thrumming.

“Come to give us a bit of entertainment on a lonely night, witchling?”

The room chilled enough that even a landen could have sensed her displeasure, but she raised her chin and ignored the insult. “Lady Callienne has requested your presence.”

It wasn’t anything close to what he’d expected to hear. “Lady Callienne has consistently denied my petitions to see her for the last three months,” Burke said, careful to keep the hurt from his voice. “Why should I see her _now_?”

She wrung her hands and looked warily around the room before extending a psychic thread to him. *Lady Dorene was killed last night. Callienne needs you.*

If he was startled by the psychic contact, he gave no sign, switching smoothly to mental communication. *Callienne wears the Opal. Even with Dorene gone, the House should be safe from anyone still alive.*

*She’s pregnant. Has been since just before the storm. Without Dorene—*

Burke didn’t need Marenne to finish the thought. Without the older woman to drain her Jewels, there was a very good chance that Callienne would miscarry. He was already on his way toward the door, vanishing his jacket because he couldn’t be bothered to take the time to put it on.

Once they were on the street, he shielded them both with a summer-sky bubble of power and added a skin-tight green shield around himself. Sure they wouldn’t be overheard, he asked, “How did she die?”

She didn’t want to tell him. He could see it in the way she held her body slightly away from him, didn’t look him in the eye. But he was the dominant power, and she had asked for his help. She didn’t want to trust him but she had to, so she began to speak. Slowly at first, then the words tumbled out because the story they told was too painful to keep inside. “A Warlord Prince came to the House last night. He said he was looking for his sister, had scoured the whole Territory looking for her. He wore a Tiger-Eye. Even a Warlord Prince shouldn’t have been able to get through to hurt Dorene, but she wasn’t thinking he would attack her when she denied him access to the kitchens where his sister was. He wasn’t strong enough to finish the kill, but he tore her throat out on his way to find his sister.” Marenne gulped. “We let him take her. There was nothing we could do, and she seemed willing to go.”

“Dorene should have known better,” he said without thinking.

“She was trying to protect us,” Marenne said quietly.

They were both right.

By the time they reached the converted mansion that had served as his brothel of choice for years, Burke had a good idea of the trouble they’d faced these last few months—and knew that asking for his help hadn’t been easy for the whore at his side.

She was the strongest able-bodied witch left in the house, but she had no idea what to do about the needs of the people who lived there.  

“Callienne’s room is there,” Marenne said, then turned to leave him.

“You aren’t coming with me?” he asked.

She hesitated again. “She wanted to speak with you alone.”

He knew better than to ask why.

Callienne looked awful. Her pale skin held a hint of nauseous green and her face was drawn and lined. The blankets piled up on the bed to either side of her made her look sunken and small instead of the vibrant woman he had spent Winsol with. The sheen of sweat on her brow spoke of pain and stress.

“Why don’t you have a Healer?” His polite tones and quiet voice didn’t make it less of a demand.

“You find one strong enough to do what needs to be done,” she gasped, “And you send her to me.”

“What needs to be done?”

“My Jewels,” she whispered. Then, she seemed to come to a decision. “My mother’s sister was a natural Black Widow. She visited with us sometimes—never for long, never often. Before the witch storm swept through she gave me a warning that I could choose to heed or ignore. She said that the price for freeing the Blood of the taint would be devastation and that the Territory would splinter into pieces in the years after the cleansing, but if I chose to bear a child to a dark-Jeweled Warlord who wore the Summer Sky, she would be a Queen strong enough to forge a land.”

It was a moment of truth. He had spent the entirety of his adult life hiding the fact that that he wore dark Jewels, had spent a fortune bribing Black Widows to weave the spells that would _let_ him hide that fact about himself. He could continue to cling to the lie, or he could save a witch’s life—and, just maybe, the life of his daughter.

“How did you know?”

She gave him a weak smile. “You’re an excellent actor, Burke, but I’m a damned good whore. I was popular because I wore a dark Jewel. Just barely, but my Jeweled power was great enough that some men took great pleasure in ‘humbling’ that power, even if they found me too late to break me of it. You enjoyed the darkness but weren’t threatened by it, weren’t intimidated.”

“There are plenty of light-Jeweled males who revel without fear in a dark-Jeweled witch’s strength,” he protested.

“Not the same way,” she told him quietly.

The conversation was starting to resemble verbal quicksand. “How do I help?”

She took a deep breath. “I need you to drain my Jewels,” she said as a flash of pain washed across her features.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted.

She gently touched the first of his inner barriers. *I’ll teach you.* 


End file.
